


carry you home tonight

by thewonderzebra



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Mindless Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 02:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15620829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewonderzebra/pseuds/thewonderzebra
Summary: Brad's on-ice antics get him sick. Patrice has to carry him everywhere--quite literally.





	carry you home tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blindbatalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/gifts).



> Thank you Alex for inspiring this with your Tumblr post the other day.

Though Brad has been [strongly] advised against licking people who get in his face, an opportunity presents itself that he can't resist. He thinks nothing of it at the time, lightly licking the corner of an opponent's mouth when said player attempts to punch him. It shocks the other man enough that Brad has time to skate away before the situation escalates. Of course, the team begins ribbing him instantly, but Brad just grins cheekily. 

Bruce makes mention of the incident in the locker room after the game, seeming more amused than annoyed. This spurs on the rest of the team, who begin wolf-whistling and making kissing noises. Brad laughs, happy that he is not in trouble with his teammates. However, when he looks to the side at Patrice's face, his stomach drops. His other half doesn't look angry, exactly, but his expression is far from amused. Brad smiles innocently, attempting to silently appeal to Patrice's good graces, but the smile he receives in return doesn't reach Patrice's eyes, and subsequently makes Brad nervous. 

When they get in the car later on, Brad hears Patrice sigh before turning on the engine, and so hesitantly, he reaches for his other half's hand. "Bergy?" he asks softly, almost shyly. "Are you angry at me?" He knows Patrice dislikes when he gets too close to other players, and he knows his actions tonight were heat-of-the-moment, but he can't stand the thought of his thoughtlessness making his love mad. Jealousy, he can handle from Patrice--but not anger. 

Despite the dim lighting of the parking garage and the lack of lighting in the car, Brad can make out the shadow of Patrice's head shaking in the negative. "No, Marchy," Patrice replies. "I'm not angry. I just wish you would think about the consequences, eh? You don't know the guy you licked…how can you know that you aren't going to get sick? How do you know that your career isn't going to be jeopardized?" 

Brad hangs his head, but Patrice continues speaking. "I'm happy you deflected a fight," he admits. "But I still worry about you. You're always under scrutiny, even when you don't deserve it, and I would hate to see anything bad happen to you because you thought you could push the boundaries. I love you, you know?" 

"I know," Brad responds. "And I love you too, Patrice. I'm sorry I wasn't thinking. But if it's any consolation, I feel pretty good right now health-wise." 

Patrice throws his head back, and Brad swears he hears his other half groan in exasperation. "Brad, it's been less than four hours," he says. "You have no basis to say that yet."

Deep down, Brad knows Patrice is right. He knows full-well that he could get sick at any time, without warning. That doesn't stop him from hoping his health luck continues, though. "I'll tell you what," he says, as Patrice puts the car in drive and exits the garage. "If I get sick, you can say 'I told you so'. I'll even make breakfast for a month." He says this not only to lighten the mood, but to show his sincerity; he likes cooking, but he hates making breakfast--Patrice has to know he is serious about his words if he offers that, right? 

It takes a few moments of silence, but finally, Brad sees Patrice nod. "Alright," he agrees. "I won't say I told you so, but just remember we had this conversation, and promise me you won't be stupid about licking people as your go-to." 

At this point, Brad is willing to do and say just about anything to get back on Patrice's good side. So, he nods in return. "Got it," he says. "I promise." He just hopes his brain remembers this promise, and he can stray from his current, somewhat unhealthy default. 

A few days later, Brad notices himself feeling more exhausted than usual after practice. His head is pounding, his throat is scratchy, and his body aches miserably. Also abnormal for him is his lack of appetite for anything other than water and Gatorade. He chalks it up to the unusually cold November weather, and possibly a cold--but nothing more than either. 

Unfortunately, the left winger is very, very wrong about the cause of his symptoms. Almost a week after the initial licking incident, Brad wakes up early one morning to his entire body throbbing. He touches his neck, and feels his own lymph nodes to be swollen beyond belief. His skin is hot (even to his own touch), but his body feels cold, and he is sure he has never felt so miserable. 

When Patrice wakes a couple of hours later, he takes one sleepy look at Brad before sitting bolt upright, a hand going to his other half's forehead. Brad barely responds to the touch, his eyes moving instead of his head to try and meet Patrice's gaze. "I don't feel so good," he says, voice coming out like a hoarse, croaking sort of whisper. 

He expects Patrice to look even a little smug, to say 'I told you so' despite promising he wouldn't. However, this is not the case. Patrice looks downright horrified at his other half's incapacity. "You're going to the doctor," he says, leaving little room for argument. 

"Okay," Brad agrees, even the barest of whispers causing his throat to burn horribly. "But you're going to have to carry me. I don't think I can move." 

Once more, Brad is surprised at Patrice's reaction, which is to take his words quite literally. After scheduling an emergency appointment, Patrice rushes to get dressed, eat [because he knows Brad isn't up for cooking, never mind eating], and grab a throw blanket from the couch. He strides into the bedroom and helps Brad to sit up, removing the bedcovers and wrapping him in the fleece throw, much to Brad's confusion. Before he can ask what Patrice is doing, however, Brad finds himself being lifted into his other half's arms and being cradled to his chest. 

Though he shivers at being out of bed, Brad can't help but relish the warmth Patrice is radiating. Too tired and weak to do much else, Brad tucks his face into his love's neck, and goes limp. As miserable as he feels, he loves being in Patrice's arms under any circumstance, and this is no exception. Patrice's scent, his warmth, everything about him seems to make Brad forget about his feverish, exhausted, aching body. 

A few hours and a rushed blood test later, Brad is informed that he has, in fact, contracted mono. The player he licked likely had it without knowing, and had passed it onto Brad, since he hadn't had it in his adolescence. There was to be no hockey practice, no games, no leaving the house for several more weeks. Brad almost wishes Patrice would say 'I told you so' just to give his sudden feelings of self-hatred some validation. He won't, though--Patrice is too kind to him to do that.

Naturally, Patrice carries Brad back to the car after the appointment, and kisses him on the forehead, relieved to have a treatment plan in place. On the way home, he stops for cough drops, popsicles, Gatorade, and extra Advil and Tylenol to help take care of his other half. When the medical supplies have been brought into the house, Patrice scoops Brad up once more and carries him inside, as well. This action is what sets the precedent for the weeks to come. 

As he recovers, Brad continues to experience an extreme lack of energy. For the most part, he stays in bed, but when he needs a change of scenery, Patrice carries him from the bed to the couch (and back). Patrice even holds Brad upright on his feet in the shower while he helps to scrub him clean. Brad leans into Patrice probably more than is necessary, but neither of them bring it up; Brad is grateful he has his love to selflessly carry him around the house and help him with his daily routines. 

Grateful and affectionate as he is, Brad can't help but feel helpless. He hates watching Patrice leave for practice and games, knowing that he can't be there with him. He hates not being able to even sit up in bed or on the couch without feeling winded, hates feeling so weak. He hates how exhausted he is, even after almost a month; he hates that he, a person who needs to move at all times in order to feel normal, has to be still. But most of all, he hates not being around Patrice and his teammates--the people he loves the most. 

While he and Patrice are lying in bed together one night, Brad is looking at his calendar on his phone. The Bruins have a gala night coming up, and since he is no longer contagious, Brad feels like it is the perfect opportunity to get out of the house. "Hey Patrice," he calls. "You know that holiday event that's coming up?" 

Patrice's eyebrows furrow as he turns to look at Brad. "Yeah," he replies, concern evident in his voice. "What about it?" 

"Um, do you think I could go?" Brad asks. He widens his eyes and nearly puppy-dog pouts to get his way. "I know what you're going to say, and I haven't had a fever in almost a week, so I'm not contagious anymore. I think I'm going to go crazy if I'm in the house by myself for any longer. Please, Bergy? I'll even Uber home if I get too tired so you don't have to bring me home and take care of me." 

Patrice thinks for a few moments. What Brad couldn't possibly know is that Patrice wants his love by his side just as badly as he wants to be there. He just needs to weigh the pros and cons of letting Brad out of the house while he is still sick and weak. Of course, it only takes a single look at his love's pouting face before he finds himself caving. 

"Alright," he sighs. "But only on one condition: I carry you from the car to the building, and carry you back. No one has to know, if you don't want them to. I just don't want you to expend your energy before you've completely recovered."

Looking utterly delighted by the proposition, Brad nods. "Absolutely," he says. "I was kind of hoping you'd say that. I like having you carry me." 

Patrice wants to roll his eyes at the ridiculous grin that is quickly appearing on Brad's face. Truthfully, though, he likes carrying Brad around just as much as his linemate likes being carried. So, he smiles back, and leans in to kiss his love's cheek. "Good," he says, simply, and opens his arms so Brad can curl up in them as they fall asleep. 

The night of the event, Patrice helps Brad into his tux, and ties his bowtie. Brad smiles the whole time, happy at the prospect of leaving the house, but even happier that Patrice has his hands on him (even if he would prefer his clothes being taken off). He tries his best to distract Patrice with kisses, but his other half will not be deterred from his task, and somehow--even with Patrice carrying Brad to the car, tux and all--they make it to the event on time. 

Patrice carries Brad inside, just as he promised, before setting him down and wrapping an arm around his waist. Brad leans against him, feeling relieved that Patrice is supporting his weight, even though he is getting steadier on his feet with every passing moment. Even as he greets his teammates, he doesn't stop leaning on Patrice, and Patrice doesn't show any signs of relinquishing his hold on Brad's waist. It's a solid system for both of them to maneuver through the evening without having to be apart from one another. 

When Patrice excuses himself from the team to obtain drinks, Brad sits down at a table in the corner, away from the view of everyone present. Although he looks exhausted, Brad makes it clear how happy he is to be here, so Patrice doesn't feel guilty about leaving him alone. He returns not five minutes later, drinks in hand, and sees his other half slumped over, arms folded on the table, sound asleep. Looking around, Patrice notices that everyone, both hockey players and guests, seems to be involved in the event. So, he takes his chances by setting the drinks aside and scooping Brad into his arms, carrying him to the car, intent on taking him home…and though he knows his other half won't remember, Patrice whispers in Brad's ear as he gets him settled in the car: "I told you so. And you don't know it yet, but you're making breakfast tomorrow." He would tell him again in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and indulging me. Leave a comment if you so choose; positivity keeps my plot bunnies happy. Feel free to come say hi on Tumblr (@thewonderzebra).


End file.
